


Under Blodreina

by norskhg



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alpha Octavia Blake, Bisexual Octavia Blake, Blodreina & Original Female Character, F/F, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, No Lesbians Die, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV Lesbian Character, Second Dawn Bunker (The 100), The 100 (TV) Season 5, The 100 Femslash, Wonkru, blodreina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-01-05 13:10:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norskhg/pseuds/norskhg
Summary: Persephone never plays by the rules - not even in the Bunker, where most of her colleagues worship Blodreina out of fear. Although Persi's bravery and defiance pose a threat to Octavia's reign, the two find a spark between them that is impossible to stomp out.





	1. Chapter One

I stand still as stone while the chaos twirls around me. The hood of my cloak protects my eyes from the splatters of fresh blood that infect every brick on the walls surrounding us. Skairipa makes her way around the hall like a dancer - every movement gracefully violent, the sword simply an extension of her body. I watch silently as my friends stand, run, and fall under her blade. One by one. 

 

I don’t grieve their losses. They are foolish to fight. Instead, I rest my back against the locked farm door, and enjoy the front row seat, preparing myself, waiting…

 

“You are Wonkru,” she says, facing a group of three bloodthirsty warriors with her sword drawn. “Or you are the enemy of Wonkru.”

 

I watch as her chest rises and falls, jagged breaths escaping the thin space between her teeth. Her tight black top shimmers in the dim light of the hallway, the smooth leather soaked with blood and sweat. 

 

“Choose.”

 

The three warriors yell in unison as they charge her from every direction. The rest of us stand and watch as they fall under her sword like a hungry wolves next meal. She slides the blade across the throat of one man before immediately turning and spearing another through the gut. Her loud, uneven breath echoes through the hall as she faces the last opponent - my old friend, Jay. I say  _ old _ because I am certain he’s a goner. I drop my eyes as they fight, sending him off to the afterlife with a small thought of appreciation. He was always kind to me, but too headstrong for his own good; The booming echo of his gasp and deafening final breath proves it. I look up to see the life leave his body. As the last group of warriors brace themselves for Osleya’s challenge, I count the bodies that litter the floor surrounding Jay. I would offer them each a silent  _ yu gonplei ste odon,  _ but I find it difficult to admire their brainless attempts to beat Octavia.

 

I house no fear as the final warrior drops, leaving Octavia victorious yet again. As she pulls the sword out of the last body, she fixes her eyes on me, peering up through her thick dark lashes. She eyes me like a piece of meat, ready to plunge her sword deep into my heart and complete her task. Only she doesn’t yet know that I am not a fighter.

 

“You are Wonkru,” she whispers, exasperated from the previous battles. Sword swaying in hand, she steps toward me. Indra and Gaia onlook intently behind her. “Or you are the enemy of Wonkru.” She aims the blade. “Choose.” 

 

I say and do nothing. Unshaken, I stand firmly before the girl, my arms straight at my side. I am hopeful she will not kill me. I have dealt with violent warriors my whole life. They love a challenge, and I am not giving her one - well, aside from blocking the door to her precious Skaikru.

 

“I said  _ choose _ …”

 

“I’m not interested in joining your little club,” I respond. I never was a fan of labels, especially labels that group me in with humans who enjoy wasting their time killing each other.

 

“You made the wrong choice,” she says, inches before my face, her grimace twisted in anger with deep lines of regret embedding her sweat and blood covered forehead. For a moment, I fear I may have pushed the girl too far, and her sword rises above me like a hammer pointed to the final nail in my coffin. It moves in slow motion as I stand my ground, ultimately faithful my confidence will protect me, again, as it always has throughout the countless fights and scuffles back home. 

 

I’ve learned that nobody wants to slay the silent girl who stands calmly in a corner, unmoved by the unnecessary violence this world seems to encourage. I hope Octavia is the same, or I am about to meet my death. My gaze never falters as I stare directly at the girl. Her eyes aren’t completely lost like those warriors from my past - no - she still maintains a glimmer to them, even if it is buried deep under her kill count which she flaunts. Sure, her sword is moving toward me with impeccable aim, about to slice my throat wide open, but I hold onto that tiny glimmer in her eyes - that glimmer which says she doesn’t really want to kill me. 

 

“Wait - “ Indra interrupts, and I lift my gaze to smile at the now-frozen sword in Skairipa’s fist. My smile is out of place as the three women stare with motionless expressions of urgency, all clenching their jaws so tightly that lines form under their skin.

 

Octavia breaks our eye contact to crane her neck back, facing Indra who is now walking toward us with the sound of dull steps on the concrete. Indra’s deep, unwavering eyes are fixed on mine. This is not the first time I’ve stared directly into these eyes.

 

“She’s not a warrior. In fact, she’s a  _ pacifist _ ,” Indra says the word as though it’s bitter in her mouth. “It wouldn’t be a fair fight.”

 

“You know her?” Octavia asks, slowly lowering her weapon.

 

An impression of a smirk begins to form across Indra’s face, but it never fully arrives. Her eyes, however, talk as though they are greeting me with malice.

 

“Unfortunately so,” Indra responds with a nod. “Persephone kom Trikru. Or perhaps  _ just _ Persephone.”

 

“Well, if you’re not a fighter, why are you guarding the door?” Octavia spews with annoyance, her brows twisted as she studies me. 

 

“Oh, I’m not guarding anything,” I say, taking a mocking step to the side and motioning with my hands as though to guide her in. “I was only here to see Skaikru get slaughtered. I guess that won’t be happening now, so carry on.” I say it all in a joking tone, letting a smirk find a home on my face. I find amusement watching the three women navigate my banter.

 

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Octavia’s voice booms through the hall, bouncing off the brick and hurting my ears, but I don’t cower under her bravado. I embrace her frustration. I am not afraid of her. I stand still, searching again for that glimmer under the grey of her eyes.

 

“Octavia,” Indra scolds. “We have more important matters than this vermin. Deal with her after we open this door. Thelonious is running out of time as we speak.”

 

“I won’t just let her defy me this way, Indra. She is an enemy of Wonkru.”

 

“So kill her quickly. She will never obey.” 

 

I stand tall before Octavia, raising my brows with a shrug. I wait for her decision - to kill me or not - though I already know her answer. If she wanted me dead, I’d already be bleeding out on the floor with the rest of the fallen. The small falters of hesitation she’s shown toward me speak for themselves. And as she lowers her sword, my suspicions come true.

 

“You’re lucky I have bigger things to deal with,” she whispers close to my ear, locking eyes with mine before shoving past me to stand before the door. Indra and Gaia follow close behind, piercing me with staring eyes before dismissing me and moving along. 

 

“It’s over,” Octavia whispers into a device. She sends me one last glare before the farm door clicks open. I walk away from the growing chaos behind me, stepping over the bodies of my friends.

 

 

 

The next time I see Octavia is through a chain-link fence as I stand in the center of a fighting pit. 


	2. Chapter Two

The halls are rather alive as I manage to escape the chaos growing behind me. With the farm door now open, people pour in and out yelling and screaming. I put my head down and keep to myself, my cloak hood like a curtain blocking out the mayhem. From the few glimpses of conversation I hear during my walk home, it’s clear the people are fearful of their fate here. Some chatter about Kara Cooper and if she will be locked away in a prison cell for the next five years. Others whisper about rumors of us all being stuck down here forever. I take none of it with merit - I’ve learned that nobody really ever knows what is going on; except the few at the top who are running the show. Back in Trikru, Indra was part of that few. And even now, down here, she remains at the top. 

 

I arrive at my dorm to see my roommate, Ronnie, sat on the edge of his bed. He, too, once belonged to Trikru. We grew up together, slowly developing similar opinions, keeping us rather good friends throughout the years. Sometimes it feels like looking into a mirror when I see him - we share the same long brown hair, the same thick eyebrows, and the same toothy grin we often wear. Many people confuse us as siblings. I was relieved to see he made it to the bunker alive. Not because I needed a friend - I’ve got plenty of those. But because he is so different from the others. He could have easily succeeded as a powerful warrior, but chose not to waste his time among company like Indra and Anya and all the other hell bent fighters.

 

“Is what I’m hearing true?” Ronnie asks, his chiseled jaw clenched as he bites his nails. 

 

“Depends on what you heard,” I say with a deadpan tone, offering a raised brow.

 

Ronnie scratches the back of his head as he speaks. “Mag said we’re never getting out of here.”

 

“Mag also believes the flame possess  _ magical _ powers,” I joke mockingly, widening my eyes and half-singing the words. 

 

“Yeah, but this is a real possibility.” He stands, motioning with his hands. “I mean, don’t you ever feel trapped down here? Nothing but stone and steel and - It’s just hard to breathe sometimes.”

 

“Jeez man. This lack of sunlight is really getting to you, huh?” I sit on my bed across from his and begin combing my fingers through my hair, alarmed at the greasiness of it. Bathing here is hard to come by. “Lighten up,” I tell him through an apathetic sigh. Ronnie’s not usually in need of such pep talks, which is why I like hanging around him. “There’s a door to get in, so there’s a door to get out. Don’t overthink it.”

 

Right as Ronnie opens his mouth to speak, our door is swung open with great force and slams against the wall. At first, I expect it to be one of my many friends who often visit me to complain about how life in the bunker has been going these past couple of months. Nobody is happy down here, especially without a true commander. I have friends in every clan, regardless of the unease between them all. I seem to bring them together to some extent, as I don’t belong to any particular group. 

 

Instead, Miller, Octavia’s little pet, stands wide-stanced in the doorway, his gun strapped close to his chest. Ronnie jumps out of his bed and watches in confusion as Miller steps toward us. Ronnie glances at me, trembling with fear, but I ignore his pleading eyes. Miller stops at the edge of my bed, letting go of his gun to reach behind for a pair of handcuffs. I rise with a smirk and turn on my heels, facing my back toward the man as I extend my hands to him. I guess this is Octavia’s way of dealing with me.

 

“You are being arrested under the command of Blodreina for your crimes against Wonkru,” Miller recites, closing the cold metal chains around my aching wrists.

 

“Oh, is that what we’re calling her now?” I say through a laugh.

 

“You know, if I were you I’d take her seriously. Things are looking bleak for you right now,” Miller says in a low tone. His eyes look at me with pity through his dark lashes. I scoff at his threats, unafraid of whatever nonsense he is implying.

 

“What the hell does that mean,” Ronnie questions, his face contorted in fear. He hovers near the edge of his bed, shifting his feet anxiously as he watches the scene unfold.

 

“Don’t worry - you’ll all see soon enough. Now come on, can’t keep her waiting.”

 

Miller pushes my back, leading me out of the room. Before we exit I look back at Ronnie who paces the floor like a lost puppy. After a short walk to the main community room, I’m thrown into the center and forced onto my knees along with a dozen others. Some Skaikru, some Trikru, Azgeda, and more. We kneel in a circle under a bright light as lines of people are escorted into the various levels of steel platforms around the perimeter of the room, a chain-link fence separating them from us. 

 

The crowd hums with collective whispers and the occasional outburst of  _ what’s going on?  _ But I have no questions - I know exactly what is happening. Octavia has lost her damn mind. I wait for further instruction and scan the prisoners next to me. As they all shift on their knees, darting their terrified eyes across the large crowd, I sit motionless as usual. The fear emanating off them all has no affect on my demeanor. The now infamous Kara Cooper kneels across from me, her body bouncing with nervousness as she rubs her palms together, frantically speaking to the Skaikru man next to her. Her name has been buzzing around the halls all evening since she overtook the farm. 

 

Octavia enters the large room and walks across the platform overlooking us, Indra and Gaia at her side. Her presence is enough to silence the crowd. 

 

“There’s too many people in this bunker,” Octavia says.  _ Ironic _ , I think. Since she’s the one who put us all down here. I notice the blood splatters from before are still dried to her face like war paint, making her rather gentle features appear menacing and dark. She wears the same tight black pants and shirt that fit over her slow-moving body like a glove. 

 

“And if we don't do something about this, none of us will survive to see the sun, the sky, the  _ ground _ ,” she continues to walk across the platform, hands at her back, as her entourage follows close behind. “And I won't let that happen.”

 

“Each of you have committed crimes against Wonkru,” she bellows, her voice growing louder and more demanding as she stops in the center of the platform, staring down at us without emotion. “And the punishment for this is death.”

 

The once silent crowd is now buzzing with a collective outrage. I keep my eyes focused on Octavia but tune my ears into the chatter around us. Kara Cooper gasps at the realization and a man next to me mutters in disbelief. I wish they’d all shut up, because I can barely think under their fear. I’ve gotten myself out of even the most dismal of situations, but how will I get out of this one....

 

“This is nonsense! Delphi doesn't deserve to be down there for stealing  _ blankets _ ,” someone shouts. He’s lucky to be on the other side of that fence, but he won’t be for long if he keeps provoking her. “Skaikru stole food!”

 

“There is no Skaikru!” She shouts. Everyone shuts up. Most people around me drop their heads, uncomfortable at Octavia’s demanding voice. But I keep my glare glued to her, noting every curve of her lips, every heavy rise and fall of her beating chest, and every uneasy gaze she shoots toward Indra or Gaia or Abby - under her act of bravado, it’s clear she’s uncertain of herself. Indra nods at the girl and she continues nonetheless. “There is only Wonkru and the enemies of Wonkru. Would you like to join them?”

 

“What did Persi do?” I hear another blurt in outrage. I glance at the source of the sound to see countless eyes on me, their brows furrowed in a flurry of confusion and desperation. They look at me like I’m a corpse, mourning my death as though it’s already happened. “This isn’t fair,” one of them says, and I’m glad to know it’s quiet enough to go unnoticed by Octavia. They are my friends - all of them. They usually look to me for answers, but now they look to me in pity and hopelessness. I appreciate their concern, but they are only painting a target on themselves if they speak any louder.

 

“In Rome, the gladiators had the opportunity to fight for their freedom.” 

 

“On your feet!” Miller shouts. I watch the prisoners around me stand with hesitation, shocked at how easily they obey. I stay on my knees for just a moment longer, pulling for any possible plan to survive this. I hope that maybe - just maybe - if I stay put long enough, the others will take note and we can protest this. But, for the first time in my life, I’m left with seemingly no other option. Begrudgingly, I lift myself up, standing in a circle formation with the others. I catch a particular set of eyes on me, despairingly piercing me from the crowd - Ronnie. Deep lines of sorrow form across his forehead as he has no other choice but to watch me meet my fate. Before I look away, I nod at him as if to say goodbye. He looks down.

 

“And so will you. Conclave rules. Win the fight, save your life.”

 

“This can’t be happening,” Kara says under her breath.

 

Octavia unsheathes her sword, lifts it high above her head, and drops it below. I watch it clink against the concrete inches in front of me. For a split second, I imagine myself lunging for it. What would I do with it? My mind shows me glimpses of myself using the sword to slash the people around me - their eyes pleading with mine, blood pouring from their mouths as they gasp in agony. 

 

I would never do it. 

 

And before I even have the chance to, Kara plunges forward, gripping the hilt of the sword and immediately slashing through the air, hitting anyone who attempts to go after her. Not one second passes before hot blood is splattered on us all, flying off the end of the blade like red rain pouring down. Even some onlookers behind the fence get painted red. Kara closes her eyes as she continues slashing the sword in every direction. She moves so quickly and sporadically that I barely have the chance to run away before the blade swipes mere inches from my face. 

 

The close encounter brings an idea to light: play dead. There is already the blood from the others covering my face, dripping down my neck and pooling at my throat. When Kara brings the sword back into my vicinity, I get just close enough to the tip that it may appear I’ve been slashed at the throat. I drop forward on my face, motionless like a corpse, and glue my eyes shut. I think it works, because as soon as my head hits the concrete, a wave of gasps and a few cries of terror come from the crowd. And for the next minute, this is where I stay - dead on the floor while the rest fight around me. 

 

I don’t shut out my noisy surroundings. Instead, I tune into them. I want to hear everything. I want to gather any bit of information from the crowd or Octavia as possible. The cries of sorrow, the yelps of pain, they don’t bother me at all. This violence is what most of them crave. They welcome the art of fighting. Yes, these are my friends. But that doesn’t mean I am anything like them.

 

In the end, I gain nothing from the crowds hesitant whispers. All they say are things like  _ what does this mean?  _ And  _ whose idea was this?  _ Their questions stop abruptly and so do the sounds of death - there must be a victor.

 

“Congratulations, Kara. You have fought your way back into Wonkru,” Octavia announces. The crowd is silent. “Let this be a warning to the rest of you. You are all dismissed.”

 

I listen as the crowd exits around and above me. The platforms jingle with each step of the hundreds and hundreds of people. Nobody speaks, not even a whisper. They are probably too shocked to think. Or too afraid of Blodreina to make the wrong move. My hair wisps in the wind Kara’s steps create as she walks past me and out of the pit, her movements slow and heavy. She drops the sword before she exits and the concrete carries its sharp noise. I almost flinch at the clang of the metal against the floor, but stop myself just in time. I am not sure if anyone is watching me, and I can’t open my eyes to check. But soon, all the footsteps dissipate until only a few remain. 

 

“Miller, Gaia, collect the bodies,” Octavia says, her voice fixed in the same spot as before. “Bring them to Level B and remove any clothing that can be of use to us.”

 

“Wait,” Indra chimes in, her voice cutting through much stronger than Octavia’s. “Gaia only. I’ll need Miller to help me escort you back to your room.”

 

“I don’t need help walking to my room, Indra,” Octavia retorts. Their voices echo above me.

 

“We don’t know yet how the people will react, if at all, to what they have just witnessed. It’s best you have two guards for now.”

 

It’s silent in the large room. 

 

“Fine,” Octavia agrees, immediately followed by a scurry of footsteps leading toward the exit. “Gaia, make it quick. We have things to discuss.”

 

“Yes, Blodreina,” Gaia’s voice is close. She must be entering the pit.

 

Octavia’s footsteps quickly disappear and I believe I am alone now, with Gaia and the dead. Gaia’s hands grip my arms, digging deep into my skin as she rolls me onto my back. When I open my eyes, she gasps, and I can barely make out the contours of her face - twisted in shock. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the dim lights of the fighting pit. 

 

“Persi!” She whispers with force, spitting my name out with pure aggravation. The fleeting flash of horror on her face shows her disbelief to see me alive. She jumps up to stand, looking down at me as her braids cascade over her shoulders. I dart my eyes quickly across the room to be sure nobody is here. “Are you insane?”

 

“Are you?” I throw back at her, lifting my torso and resting my weight on my forearms as they press against the cold concrete. I crane my neck to each side, loosening the ache from laying here so long. “You guys are running a fucking circus in here.”

 

“You guys?” She questions, peering down at me with high brows. She glances at the door to ensure we’re safe and lowers her voice. “This is Blodreina’s doing. I’m simply following orders.”

 

“Bullshit,” I say, letting the word linger for a moment. I pull myself up into a sitting position. “I know how your mother is. She’s smart. Sneaky. Pulling the puppet strings just like Abby Griffin.”

 

Gaia begins to open her mouth to protest, but stops just before she can make a sound. She closes her mouth, clenching her jaw and pursing her lips together. She stands still above me, eyeing me with a searching expression. Maybe she thinks of our past. Our long history back home at Trikru. How I fought against her mother for years. How I saved her life one night. 

 

“I don’t ask for much, Gaia. In fact, I’ve never asked you for a goddamn thing,” I say, looking up at her through my lashes. Her face begins to soften as she watches me speak. “So please. Get me back to my dorm and I won’t tell them you helped me.”

 

“Absolutely not,” she responds, shaking her head although she seems genuinely torn. Gaia has always worn her expressions fully, never holding back. She couldn’t be more different than her mother. “If Blodreina sees you alive, you’ll be right back here in the fighting pit. And this time she’ll make sure you die.”

 

“I’ll disguise myself.”   
  
“For five years?”

 

The weight of the situation silences us.

 

“There’s no way out of this, Persephone. And as much as I’ve resented you over the years, I never wanted to see you end this way.”

 

“Well, you didn’t do much to stop it either, huh?” I let my voice cut through her. I want my words to haunt her if I truly do die here today. “You know I don’t fight. Putting me in this pit meant certain death and you know it.”

 

While what I say is true, my emotions are exaggerated. If I can use Gaia’s empathy to my advantage, I just may get out of here alive. 

 

“Don’t blame me for this. You defied Blodreina. You’re lucky to have lasted this long,” Gaia says defensively. She takes a breath and returns to a quiet tone. “Things will be easier when you are dead. You cause too much of a disruption, just like back home.”

 

“I’m not causing anything, Gaia. The people are already wary of you. Of Octavia and her entourage. There’s been a growing opposition since the day we walked into this bunker,” I tell her. I think back to all the friends I’ve made here. How they seem to cling to me for guidance. Call it popularity, call it charisma, whatever it may be. This seems to grab Gaia’s attention. “I know things nobody else knows - because people come to  _ me _ to talk. They trust  _ me _ . They do not trust Octavia. Especially not  _ Blodreina _ .”

 

She’s silent, but in the flicker of her deep eyes, I can see her mind begin to wonder. I may be able to talk myself out of this predicament after all.

 

“So you have two options, Gaia,” I tell her as I slowly rise to my feet. I take a step toward her until I’m inches from her face. Her eyes dart across mine and I begin to whisper. “You can help me find a way out of this. Or you can take that sword and look into my eyes as you slit my throat, killing the very person who saved your life all those years ago.”

 

We stand frozen for a long while. The unique glow of her eyes reminds me of home. Of our entangled past.

 

Finally she speaks.

 

“Fine,” she agrees. “I’ll help you. But not because I owe you.” 

 

I cock my head in intrigue, waiting for her explanation. 

 

“Because we need you.”


	3. Chapter Three

Gaia leads me through a series of halls I’ve never seen before. Here in the bunker, we are not authorized to use certain rooms or tunnels. Everything is rigid and structured. Nobody really bothers to break rules regarding restricted areas because everything is guarded and there’s not much of a reason. Everything we need is in our tiny dorms. Before now, I assumed every hall in the bunker looked the same: grey brick walls, concrete floors, and some flags and artwork from the previous inhabitants. However, as we walk further into the unknown sect, the cinder halls become beautiful stone walls. The concrete pavement leads to an elegant cobblestone pathway. Fiery torches adorn the walls, casting shadows across the hall. A large canvas painting of a man hangs between two torches, its frame encrusted with diamonds. As soon as a large wooden door comes into view, Gaia tightens her grip on my wrist, pulling me closer behind her and quickens our pace. 

 

“Wow. You guys really get the royal treatment. Is this why you block these halls?”

 

“Quiet,” Gaia hisses as we approach the door. She leads me to stand next to it and finally releases her grip. “Stay right here,” she whispers, eyes wide. “Step inside  _ only _ on my command.”

 

I nod and lean against the stone wall. She eyes me one last time before standing tall before the door, inhaling a long breath, and lifting her delicate wrist to knock on the door. 

 

“Come in,” Octavia responds, her voice muffled behind the thick wood.

 

Gaia, with her hand on the doorknob, nods at me once before letting herself in. She leaves the door open as she steps in. The bright light from the room cascades onto the dark stone floor of the hall. My face itches under the drying blood. When I twitch my nose to ease it, tiny red speckles flake off my skin, falling to my boots. Looking down, I notice how gory that battle was, how stained and battered my clothing is now. My eyes were closed for most of the fight, but the thick red blood splattered across my cloak and tight ripped jeans tells the story.

 

“Finally, Gaia. There you are,” I hear Octavia say as Gaia’s footsteps echo further into the room. “Come and sit, your mother has something to tell you.”

 

Great. Indra is in there. 

 

“Actually, Octavia,” Gaia begins. Her voice is much weaker than usual. “There’s been a slight problem.”

 

“Problem?” 

 

“Persi,” Gaia yells, signaling for my entrance. 

 

Here goes nothing. 

 

I enter the room, watching the shock spread through Octavia, Indra, Miller, and Abby.

 

“What the hell is this?” Octavia yells as she immediately rises to her feet. She stands behind a large desk. I take a moment to survey the room - a large open space - before locking eyes with her. 

 

“She survived her injuries.”

 

“Well, kill her then!” Octavia orders, her brows twisted in rage. 

 

“We can’t do that,” Gaia pleads timidly.    
  


“Why the hell not? I said conclave rules. There can only be one.”

 

“So tell the people what happened,” Gaia tries. “She passed out and woke up. They will understand.”

 

“Why are you vouching for this girls life,” Indra hisses, glaring at me as though I’m not human. “After all she’s done to Trikru and all the disobedience she’s shown down here, why should we spare her life?”

 

“Because we can  _ use _ her,” Gaia replies, her words slow and urgent. This is news to me: Gaia told me nothing on our walk up here. 

 

Octavia and Indra share a look of slow, hesitant intrigue. Abby chimes in from the corner.

 

“We’re listening.”

 

Gaia smiles and nods to the doctor who stands quietly with her arms crossed. Gaia returns her gaze to Octavia and her mother before continuing her case.

 

“Persephone has a great rapport with the people in this bunker.  _ All  _ people from  _ all  _ clans. Her charisma transcends the warring clans’ unrest. People flock to her.”   
  
“As they always have,” Indra interrupts. “Popularity means nothing.”   
  
“It means  _ everything _ , mother. Especially when we’re trying to keep the peace.  _ She  _ can help unite Wonkru like no other.”

 

“I’ve already united Wonkru,” Octavia says defensively.

 

“Are you sure about that?” Gaia challenges, a hint of confident mockery in her growing voice. She’s fighting for my life. “Persi, tell her what you told me.” She looks at me. Her eyes are urgent, pleading with me to not mess this up. This might be my final chance at life.

 

I take another step further into the room, stopping just before Octavia’s desk. Abby and Indra stand to her right, Miller in the corner. All eyes glue to me as I clear my throat and speak.

 

“The unrest among the people is going to take much more than a fighting pit to calm down,” I begin, my voice confident yet disinterested. I speak through sighs and rolling eyes, honestly shocked that they are so imperceptive to the growing rebellion in their own people. “People come to me everyday to vent about you. About the bunker. About how they feel unheard and unsafe.”

 

“The people are tired of relying on a power-figure. They need someone among them - someone they can relate to - to change their minds,” Gaia speaks with a powerful force, using her gentle hands to add importance to her words.

 

“So what are you suggesting?” Octavia questions. “We use her as a spy?”

 

“Something like that,” Gaia nods. Her palms are folded at her core. “She can slowly convince the people to trust us. We can have weekly meetings to discuss progress and possible issues. She can even detect potential traitors and we can throw them in the pit before they have time to start a rebellion.”

 

“And why should we trust her?” Indra asks the room, but stares only at me. Her jaw is clenched tight under her straight teeth. I grin at her, knowing how irritating it must be to watch the person she hates the most infringe on her power.

 

“Only time will tell.” Gaia is honest. They have good reason to be cautious. Doubtful, even. They’ve been burned by me before and I don’t regret it one bit. “If she shows even the slightest sign of betrayal, you can throw her in the pit and execute her yourself.”

 

“Good plan,” Indra nods. She hopes I will fail. She would love nothing more than to slit my throat. 

 

But I will not fail. Perhaps my friends are naive to trust me so blindly. They misinterpret my interest in their problems as being caring. Make no mistakes, I am not a caring person. Indra knows this. My refuse to physically fight does not stem from not wanting to harm others. It stems from my hatred of warriors and their laughable culture. 

 

Deceiving my friends will be easy if it means saving my life.

 

“Blodreina, what do you say?” Indra asks the girl who stares me down with an unwavering gaze. Her silvery blue eyes are squinted in harsh scrutiny. 

 

“Don’t fuck this up,” Octavia spews before lifting her right arm to dismiss me. “Miller, walk her back to her dorm.”

 

“Good call,” I say. Gaia urges me with a look of shock to shut up, but I know my power. I can get away with so much now that I know they need me. 

 

The room is silent as Miller takes my arm and guides me out the door. When we’re already decently far down the hall, I turn my head expecting to see the wooden door. Instead, I see four pairs of eyes staring at me from the open room. The women stand still, mouths closed, watching us walk away. But only one pair of eyes catch mine, an oddly alluring shade of blue - Octavia leans over her desk, nose pointed toward the floor as she looks up at me grimly. Gaia closes the door, breaking our gaze, and I turn my head forward to continue my walk home.

 

First task: Ronnie.

  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter Four

Miller stops at my door and says goodbye only through a short nod. As he walks away, he shouts down the empty hall, loud enough to be heard by everyone in their dorms. “Curfew check in ten, everyone better be in their beds when I come through!”

 

I brace myself for Ronnie’s reaction as I twist the handle of my dorm door. Part of me wishes he’s already asleep so I can deal with him in the morning, but Miller’s shouting seems to kill that plan. I quietly step inside to see him knelt on the floor beside his bed, his head in his hands while his elbows dig into the thin mattress. He lifts his eyes at the sound of my steps, revealing his red face dampened with tears. I stand still while the door closes behind me and watch his sorrowful expression shift into pure bewilderment. His hazel eyes widen.

 

“Persi?”

 

“Ask away,” I smirk and walk to my bed nonchalantly. His mouth falls open while he stares at me in disbelief.

 

“How… how did…” He struggles to speak, running a hand through his long brown hair and collapsing into a seat on the floor. He rests his back lazily against his bedside. “I watched you die.”

 

“Clearly not,” I joke. I can’t help but chuckle at his amazement. I treat it as nothing and relax into my bed, not bothering to kick off my boots. With only ten minutes until curfew, there’s no point in trying to get ready for bed. I hope this newfound power can get me special access to more frequent baths, and maybe a new fit of clothes.

 

“I’ve been mourning you all night - we’ve all been…” 

 

“Nothing to mourn here,” I say, letting my back sink deep into the shallow mattress, resting my folded hands at my waist. I close my eyes as I speak. “I lost some blood and passed out. They decided to spare me.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Blodreina’s forgiving,” I lie, officially starting my new task. Without looking, I can already feel his glare of confusion. Everything I am about to say goes completely against my beliefs. “She’s really not as bad as we’ve painted her out to be. I guess you just wouldn’t know until you speak with her one on one.”

 

I hear Ronnie clear his throat and rustle to his feet. When I peak my eyes open, he’s standing near my bedside, peering down at me with his brows pinched in concern. “How hard did you hit your head?”

 

I laugh, but he’s serious.

 

“I’m fine,” I reassure him. “Dr. Griffin checked me out. Nursed me back to health.” I search his eyes to see if he’s buying it. It’s hard to tell, but he - like the rest - always believe anything I say. “Seriously. I’m alright, Ronnie.”

 

“But… How can you think she’s forgiving? She made you fight to the death… and for what?”

 

“Because, I deserved it,” I say, sitting up in my bed.

 

“What did you do?” Fear holds his voice. “What was your  _ crime against Wonkru?”  _ He asks, citing Miller from hours earlier. “Because I highly doubt it was anywhere near bad enough to justify what she did to you.”

 

I had the chance to think about this during my walk here. I need to convince everyone that I did something awful enough to warrant my arrest and punishment of the fighting pit. I need to convince them that Octavia did the right thing - which is so ridiculous that even I struggle to put on this act. But my life depends on it.

 

“I was plotting her death,” I lie, again. “Was going to have one of the Azgeda warriors carry it out. The one who died in the pit.”

  
“Why didn’t you let me in on this plan?” He asks, genuine upset in his voice. He’s digging his own grave right now. “You tell me everything. I could have helped you. We could have gotten it done.”

 

“Ronnie,” I spit, though I try to keep my frustration invisible. “It’s a good thing she caught me, because we need her to survive down here.”

 

He says nothing more, though it appears his mind is racing as he paces the floor, hands clasped behind his neck. Technically, I could turn him in for what he’s just said, but I decide to give him another chance. He has every right to be concerned - I would be, too. But I’m thankful for his silence as I position myself under the covers for sleep. Soon, he scurries into his bed as well and Miller’s footsteps boom down the hall, opening each door one by one for curfew check. I sleep easy, the intensity of the day finally catching up with my tired body.

  
  


~~ /////// ~~

  
  


All morning, people stare at me. Their faces drain of color as their eyes widen and they slap the person next to them, pointing at me.  _ Look! It’s Persi! _ I try and tune it out. Ronnie does nothing but talk and gossip all day, so most of them have already heard the news. I grab my rations - one measly scoop of watery stew - and join my friends at our usual table. I can’t even sit before Mag opens her mouth.

 

“So how did you convince Blodreina to spare you? How did you even get caught in the first place? Does this mean you’re on some watch-list now?” Her buggy green eyes watch me intently. Mag is a petite woman, a little older than Ronnie and I, but her small body can barely contain her buzzing energy that never seems to die.

 

“Yeah, tell us how you got caught? How can they even prove something like that?” Our other friend, Rhodes, joins in. 

 

“Guys,” I say, throwing my palms up. “Can we talk about this later? I lost a lot of blood. I’m tired,” I lie. Well, I am tired - of their constant chatter. I decide I’ll lock myself in my dorm the rest of the day just to avoid all the hype.

 

“Oh, how could I be so selfish. I’m so sorry,” Mag apologizes, concern flooding her bright eyes. I pick up my spoon to eat and the rest follow. “We’ll be quiet, Persephone.”

 

I feel Miller watching me from his post near the door. Now that I’m on their radar, I suppose I should expect this. For a while, as I eat, I assume he’s only staring to intimidate me, to push me into keeping my task for Octavia. However, once my friends get up to leave and make room for the next clan, Miller begins to walk toward me with an unbreaking gaze. I take the hint and stay behind, letting my friends go on without me. As he approaches, he slips his shirt up, revealing a white paper tucked into his waistband. He pulls it out and drops it on my empty tray, continuing to walk away and help lead the groups out of the cafeteria. 

 

I have no time to examine the note here as hungry people begin entering the room, lining up for their breakfast and claiming the tables surrounding me. I pocket it swiftly and run to catch up with Ronnie and Mag. 

 

As we walk home, I slip into one of the bathrooms to read the note:

 

_ Persephone, _

 

_ 90 minutes past curfew, leave your dorm and walk to the south exit where Miller will be waiting for you. _

 

_ Tell no one and make no sound. _

 

_ This is an order. _

  
  
  


~~ /////// ~~

 

Miller appears like clockwork, standing at the exit of our dorm hall, as I turn the corner. He wears all black, pounds of heavy armor protecting his torso, and has his strapped gun held tightly at his chest. He wears the same stony expression as usual, never breaking to laugh or even chat, his plush lips pressed into a straight line as he leads our walk with a roll of his eyes. I don’t know how long the walk will be since nobody has a clue where Octavia’s room is located. In fact, none of us even know how large this bunker truly is. As we begin walking, Miller props the door open for me and makes a final check of the empty hall before guiding me. 

 

When we near the end of the hall, Miller extends an arm to block me from continuing. I falter my step, standing still to peer up at him with confusion.

 

“I have orders to blindfold you the rest of the way,” he explains, pulling a thick black cloth out of his back pocket. 

 

I can’t help but scoff, yet I am not surprised. I offer my head willingly, closing my eyes with a sigh. The corners of my lips curl into a smirk as Miller lifts the fabric to my eyelids and ties it into a tight knot behind my head. It digs into my scalp, my thick unruly hair a comforting barrier. His hand grips my wrist and he pulls me into whichever direction.

 

We walk for a while longer than I expect. Using only my ears and sense of direction, taking into account every minor pause and click of metal, it seems we’ve passed through five or six doors, turning directions each time. I try desperately to produce a mental map of our walk, but my mind is unable to remember the sequences perfectly - besides, Miller could have easily walked me in a deceiving circle to prevent just that. It’s not urgently necessary, but knowing every nook and cranny of the bunker would be highly valuable information. 

 

When we stop, I hear three knocks on a wooden door just before my face. Then, the thick knot digging deep into my scalp is released as Miller removes the blindfold. My vision is spotty as I adjust to the dim lighting of torches lining the stone walls. In front of me stands a beautifully carved wooden door, much like the one from Octavia’s office yesterday. But this one is much larger, grand, like a work of art. Looking behind me, I see nothing but a long dark hall, no other doors or adjoining hallways, lit only by the low fire of the widely spaced torches. 

 

As I turn back, the door opens. Octavia stands in the entrance, the soft glow of her bedroom pouring light into the dark hall, caressing her confident yet relaxed silhouette. Her skin still bears the splatters of blood from yesterday, though they are no longer red. They drip down her face like cracked patches of black paint. 

 

“Good,” Octavia eyes me. “You got my invitation.”

 

“Was it an invitation?” I ask, my brows pinching together as I smile. “It read more like a threat.”

 

Octavia rolls her eyes and lands on Miller.

 

“Miller, you are released for the day. Get some sleep.”

 

He nods and leaves us. We stand in silence as Miller’s footsteps echo further away, her eyes unmoving on mine. Her glossy hair is slicked back into a tail high on her head, the long dark locks cascading over one shoulder. She watches me so intensely with her jaw clenched shut and I think she truly believes she can intimidate me. I hold back a laugh at the thought. 

 

When Miller’s footsteps are finally gone, she moves her rigid body, stepping into her room to allow me inside. 

 

It’s larger than ten dorms combined. I wonder if Indra, Miller, and the rest get rooms like this. The first thing I notice is the bed at the center of the room - a massive stretch of thick rolling blankets, extravagantly embroidered pillows, and a sheer canopy hovering above it. The room is unreasonably lavish, especially when everyone else is rationed to one thin threadbare sheet, one lumpy pillow, and rarely even one change of clothes. 

 

To my right stands a large wardrobe, one of its wooden doors slightly open to reveal the spilling expanse of black clothing - shirts, pants, coats, and an assortment of leather boots. To my left sits a small desk littered with books and papers, a long candle dripping wax onto the surface. The floor is stone with large rugs laid across, cushioning my feet beneath the thin leather soles of my boots. Octavia leans against the bed, her palms clutching the mattress. She wears tight black pants and a leather jacket pressed clean against her body. I stand close to the door, my weight shifted on one side.

 

“Well don’t just stand in the doorway. I don’t bite,” Octavia says dryly, her chin lowered while her blue eyes pierce up at me through a line of long dark lashes. She’s beautiful - one the outside, at least. Well, her confidence, though wavering at times, also has somewhat of an alluring pull on me. I let my eyes drop to admire the curves of her body. The thin gap of bare skin between her jacket and the hem of her pants catches my attention, and I linger there for a moment before pulling my gaze back to her eyes.

 

“No, you don’t bite,” I respond. “You just murder people with your sword.”

 

Octavia scoffs, rolling her eyes and turning her head to the side, looking down with a smile. She pauses before speaking again, lifting and cocking her head as she faces me. She clasps her hands together at her thighs.

 

“Then you’re lucky it was Gaia who found you alive,” she says. “If it were me, I’d have killed you on the spot.”

 

“So why didn’t you when you had the chance?” I ask, thinking back to our first encounter at the farm door. I squint my eyes into a thin line while I look across the room at her. I notice a falter in her eyes and in her confident posture. She glances to the side for just a moment while the playful energy of the conversation quickly halts, replaced by an urgency of task at hand. She ignores the question and changes the subject, regaining her poise.

 

“I called you here to make my own opinion of you,” Octavia explains through a breathy exhale. “Indra’s convinced you’re a snake among us.”

 

“Indra is right,” I admit. “But so is Gaia; You need me. And time will tell.”

 

She nods once, letting the corner of her glossy lips turn slightly. It’s a gentle smile - an expression I’ve never seen from her. She seems to relax and get lost in her mind for a moment, falling onto her bed and watching the ceiling as if it were a night sky full of stars. Perhaps the realization that she has help in her struggle for power puts her at ease.

 

I let myself further into the room, walking toward the left side, examining a beautifully crafted statue of an unnamed man. The rug beneath it is a deep shade of violet adorned with golden roses along the outer edge. I step onto it, wiggling my toes inside my boots, feeling the soft cushion of the carpet. Walking to the desk, I run my fingertips across the polish oak wood until they crash into a leather bound journal laid open, its sturdy paper fraying and yellow with age. I don’t mean to, but my eyes naturally begin examining the words, the sloppy sway of the handwriting, the black ink smudged here and there. Before I latch onto any words in particular, Octavia lunges herself off the bed.

 

“Hey!” She yells and I retract my hand from the book. She slams the cover shut and peers up at me through furrowed brows, an intense urgency squinting her eyes. 

 

“What’s that?” I begin to tease with a smile of intrigue, but quickly shift my attitude to match hers as I see how serious she becomes. Clutching the journal with white knuckles, she clenches her jaw shut and takes a step of distance between us. I sigh, shrugging my palms upward. “Look, I didn’t read anything.”

 

She says nothing as she breaks her glare on me to throw the journal into the desk drawer, slamming it shut with a loud click that rings my ears. She must realize how reactive she’s being, since she suddenly shakes her head and relaxes her posture, returning to her stance against the bed - only this time, she keeps her head down, her eyes locked onto the floor. A silence falls over the room. I’m comfortable, though she clearly isn’t. What little power she thought she had over me seems to fall away while she anxiously fumbles her thumbs in her palms.

 

“Don’t act so shocked. Everyone has secrets,” she says defensively, still watching the floor with her head turned away from me. 

 

“Yeah, you’re human,” I say. “And as much as you want to, you will never convince me you’re some ruthless leader.”

 

“Your job is to keep the people manageable, not to disrespect me in my own room,” she snaps, lifting her head to look at me. 

 

Perhaps I do feel a slight twinge of pity for the girl. It’s hard to watch someone pretend to be brave when they so clearly have a war in their own mind. Maybe not everyone sees it in her, but I do. I see it in everyone. 

 

“Is it disrespectful to treat you like a human?” I ask, cocking my head as I step lightly toward the girl. “Isn’t it tiring?” I continue, stopping next to Octavia, leaning against the bed with my arms at my side. “Playing  _ queen _ to everyone all day just to return to your room alone at night?” 

 

“You should go,” she says.

 

“You’re scared.”

 

Octavia opens her mouth to protest, but stops with a quiet exhale, her chest dropping with her breath. Her gaze drops and halts at my lips, her alluringly blue eyes glossing over as they dart across my mouth before she seemingly snaps out of it and looks at her feet. There exists a persistent pull between us, and I imagine giving in to the unspoken desire for just a moment before side stepping, creating a necessary distance between us. It’s purely physical, I tell myself. And a bad idea.  

 

“I’ve heard all I needed to hear,” Octavia says, turning on her heels and walking to grab the radio from her bedside table. “Kent, come return Persephone to her dorm,” she speaks into the device before clicking it off with a wave of static.

 

“And?” I say, craning my head to see her. “What have you concluded? Am I trustworthy enough for you?”

 

“I think I’ll add that answer to my book of secrets.”

 

I nod, saying nothing while I watch the door. Octavia returns to my side, only this time she holds a folded red cloth. I roll my eyes and turn my back to her, allowing her to lower the blindfold over my closed eyes. She begins tying, patting my hair down around the knot.

 

“Before you go, tell me one thing,” she whispers, her lips so close that her warm breath caresses my ear, sliding down the back of my neck like a ghost of a kiss. She tightens the blindfold, leaving me completely encased in darkness. I feel my lips tighten into a smirk. “Did you actually pass out in the arena?”

 

I pause. Footsteps appear outside the door - my guard to bring me home. 

  
“I have a book of secrets, too,” I say, and her warm breath on my ear is swiftly replaced by the cooling wind of the door opening. She places her palm gently on the small of my back, pushing me forward until I stumble into the guard who grips my wrist. 

 

“Careful with this one, Kent,” Octavia says behind us. “She doesn’t know when to shut up.”

  
  
  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter Five

The thought of Octavia taunts me throughout the night, long after our brief encounter. In a slurry of sleeplessness and fleeting moments of rest, I can almost feel her gentle whispers against my skin, sending tingles down my body. My subconscious won’t let her go. I nearly laugh in bed, wondering how an enemy has entered my thoughts in such a way. This is a dangerous game.

My sleepless night is cut short by a violent alarm blaring over the speakers. Ronnie awakes with a groan, pushing his sheets to the floor and covering his ears. I follow suit as the halls buzz with annoyed people. When Octavia has an announcement, no matter how big or small, she wakes us up an hour early to meet in the main room - the pit. However, the girl is nowhere in sight, and instead it’s Indra who announces that Blodreina has fallen ill with some minor virus, but will return to her duties when she regains health. Obviously nobody sounds upset at the news. Mostly we are too tired to listen - our abrupt morning has put us all in a careless fog.

“In the meantime,” Indra says, standing at Blodreina’s empty throne above the fighting pit. “There is to be a ball this weekend commemorating Kara Cooper’s victory.”

The crowd chatters at the announcement. For the past couple of months, it’s been nothing but work and sleep. And while the initial shock of the battle has died down, it’s the perfect time for some good news. Ronnie beams with a smile of disbelief, nudging my shoulder.

“No way,” he breathes, watching Indra from our crowded spot on the floor row. The moving sea of people surrounding us press our bodies against the fence. Octavia sure packed this bunker to the brim. “I’ve forgotten what it’s like to party.”

I offer him a small grin. The word flashes memories through my mind; Ronnie and I would spend our summer nights by a fire, chasing pretty girls, being loud, reckless, free. Maybe I miss the ground just a bit. I guess this news is worth being dragged out of bed an hour early.

“You’ve all been hard working since the the bunker doors closed,” she says. “And Blodreina believes you deserve a chance to relax.”

I laugh knowing Octavia is only doing this because of what I told her - that nobody has been happy one second down here. She’s blind not to have seen it sooner, but at least she’s doing something now. The audience is hesitantly pleased. They are noticeably confused, although elated to get something to look forward to. It’s as though they can’t believe Blodreina is capable of giving us just one opportunity to have fun - and to be honest, I can’t believe it either at first. But, she’s doing it to save her own ass, and that is unsurprising to say the least.

“But until then, back to work and study as usual,” she dismisses us and the guards begin leading us out with some organization. 

Once the general chaos of getting into the bunker settled nearly 50 days ago, we were each assessed individually and either matched with a job or assigned to required schooling. Most of us “grounders” were deemed unfit for work, as many of the jobs down here require a high level of skill we’ve never been trained in, like medicine and engineering. The few physically demanding jobs did go to warriors of various clans, but the rest of us have to sit through eight hours of lecture complete with assignments each night. Our only break comes at the end of the week, when everyone gets two days off from school. Those with jobs get days off much more often as they rotate shifts. This was how they lived on the Ark, we’ve been told.

As if the pre-existing qualms between the clans weren't enough, the general public’s wariness of Octavia’s rule only grew stronger as Skaikru seemed to take over every aspect of the bunker. All of our teachers? Skaikru. All of our doctors? Skaikru. Those who assigned the jobs and schooling in the first place? Skaikru.

I quickly exit the arena and arrive at my first class with Ronnie and Mag at my side. The idea is that we adults will study this way for 2 years before deciding which career we would like to train for. The children will continue schooling until they turn 18 when they will also have to choose a path. Octavia is looking to create a society of doctors, engineers, farmers, and the like so that we can flourish once we reach the ground again. Or perhaps, more likely, this was Jaha’s or Abby’s idea. 

There is only one way out of this schooling-career plan: fighting. Those who chose to train to become a warrior do not have to attend classes or work a day in their life. I don’t particularly enjoy these people’s company, because they’re usually large, hairy, and sweaty - but I do envy their freedom away from these void classrooms. Ronnie and I sit together in the far back corner - the same desk we chose everyday. Of course, Mag sits front and center, ready to learn. Rhodes decided to train as a warrior, as much as he despises the act, just to skip schooling. Immediately I feel the life drain from my body as the white cinderblock walls offer nothing to gaze at. The chairs are stiff, bent from scrap metal, and their feet scratch across the floors with an awful squeal.

Our medical teacher is a Skaikru woman named Valerie. She’s young, no kids, and her husband died somewhere along the way. She was studying under Dr. Griffin while on the Ark, but never had the chance to fully become a doctor as their oxygen was running low and she had no choice but to end up here, on the ground. I know most of Skaikru’s story from a friend of mine, Andrew, who grew up in Farm Station. From the sound of it, the Ark was a great place to live. Except for the harsh laws and punishments. I guess they’ve come full circle now.

There is no such thing as hands-on learning here. There is not enough supplies to waste on training. The closest we’ve come to some sort of demo in medical class are the few rare times someone in the bunker got injured and Dr. Griffin would let us all circle around as she patched up whichever dumb warrior got too aggressive. Our day really is just sitting and listening. Some take notes, but most of us are smart enough to know it’s a waste of time. None of us truly believe we will ever be granted a job. But now that I have been tasked with creating support for Blodreina, I think it’s best I become a model student. Crazy, I know. But proper schooling is Octavia’s demand, so I must sell it as a good plan. As I lift my journal out of my bag, Ronnie furrows his brows. 

“Notes? Am I missing something?”

I shrug, taking the pen to the paper and squiggling my name in loopy letters. “What? You want to sit in class for the next 5 years?”

Ronnie retracts, the joking smirk of his face now swept with hesitation. He’s not sure how to navigate me anymore. 

“Persi, you said it yourself. No matter how well we do, there are no jobs for us.”

“If we’re going solely on things I’ve said in the past, that means I still think your hair is atrocious,” I joke. Ronnie touches his hair out of reaction, a playful frown forming on his face. I rip out a sheet of paper and slap it in front of him. He rolls his eyes at me, but accepts it nonetheless.

The day goes by unnecessarily slow. In every class, someone points out my presence. “Look, it’s Persi,” they whisper to their friends as dozens of eyes fall on me. I guess rising from the dead is a pretty big deal. The whispers of bewilderment don’t bother me, but while listening throughout the day, I manage to catch a few bits of vital information. Like in math class when an Azgeda girl named Lea whispers something like “I can’t believe they made Persi fight. If Blodreina thinks this will tame us, she has another thing coming.” I listen quietly from the corner, reaching for my journal to jot her name down.

1\. Lea kom Azgeda

When her friend agrees, I throw her name down too.

1\. Lea kom Azgeda  
2\. Yve kom Azgeda

And the list grows longer during our lunch break when I hear two men behind me discuss their hatred for Blodreina and the bunker in general. I peer over to see their faces and reach for my pen.

1\. Lea kom Azgeda  
2\. Yve kom Azgeda  
3\. Han kom Trikru  
4\. Benjamin kom Skaikru

This is how my week goes, day by day, adding names to the growing list. By the end of the second day the list is 18 names long. Do I think they deserve to die? Not necessarily. Are they going to, for my own benefit? Most of them, yes.

Now, I would never directly harm anyone - physically, that is. But I can’t help but grin at the amount of Trikru warriors on the list. Indra’s own beloved fighters. Ones she’s raised and coached for decades. It will be lovely to see the look on her face when they appear beneath her in the pits, helpless and doomed - just as I was. I gain even more satisfaction knowing that her own daughter has put me up to this in the first place. I bite my lip to contain the excitement, the years of brewing chaos between us, finally coming to some justice. 

As classes begin to close and work lets out, the halls grow busier by the minute. I wait patiently for Miller to bring me to our first scheduled meeting. However, the more crowded the halls become, the harder it will be to go out discreetly. I bite my lip, clenching the crumpled paper inside my coat pocket, leaning against the outside of my dorm door. Peering my gaze over the growing crowd passing through, I expect to see Miller any moment. Unfortunately, Ronnie beats him to it. He stops before me, a curious brow lifted above his innocent face.

“Waiting for someone?”

I smirk.

“Unfortunately so,” I begin to lie. “I have to meet with Dr. Griffin so she can make sure I have no lasting injuries from the pit.”

His eyebrows drop as he offers a sympathetic smile. He’s too easy to fool sometimes.

“Have fun with that,” he teases. I step aside to let him in the dorm. “Maybe tonight we can sneak into Jude’s room for a little party,” he whispers, raising his eyes with a playful expression. I feel my face drop with a roll of my eyes. Not this again.

“Not a good idea,” I mutter through clenched teeth. I wish he’d drop all this. I really don’t want to have to add his name to the list.

“Why?” Ronnie scoffs in disbelief. “You love to sneak out.”

“Ronnie,” I snap with wide eyes. He opens his mouth to speak again, but Miller’s sudden presence stops him. Ronnie looks down with a nod and disappears into the dorm. 

 

As expected, Miller is stony and quiet our entire walk. When we approach the door to the private halls, he reaches into his back pocket for the blindfold, which I accept without trouble. The cloth shuts around my eyes, surrounding me in total darkness, though his harsh grip around my wrist guides me through the mysterious halls. As before, the quick and frequent turns are disorienting and make it hard to even guess my location, but I try my best. Right, right, left, right, left, left… I repeat in my head. It’s a hopeless cause for now, but if I’m going to be escorted this way for all these years down here, I’m sure I will memorize it eventually.

I falter at Miller’s abrupt stop and I hear him unlatch a metal lock. When he opens a door, Octavia’s voice cuts off. I was not expecting to hear her voice, thinking she’d still be too sick for her duties. My heart flutters and I demand it to stop. The room is silent. I wish he’d remove this goddamn blindfold already.

“The guest of the hour,” Octavia kids, her voice monotone and unimpressed. I hear movement around me, footsteps here and there. It’s hard to make out the number of people in the room.

Finally, the veil is lifted and I regain sight. A different room than before. How many rooms are they keeping secret down here? It’s large, bright from white ceiling lights, and holds a long polished table with at least a dozen seats. Octavia sits at the far end, leaned back and relaxed in the chair, while the rest sit in lines - Gaia, Indra, Abby, and Kane. Two guards rest against the wall beside me, watching my every move.

Octavia’s relaxed gaze pierces me. I notice the redness of her nose and the dull skin surrounding her eyes, but she appears healthy enough. She cocks her head toward the opposite end of the table, prompting me to take a seat. Miller pushes the small of my back at that direction and I move, taking long strides across the room, passing the others before taking my chair.

“Well?” Octavia raises her brows, peering at me down the long table. The lights cast shadows across her face, the blue of her eyes bright against her shaded skin. There is something off about her, about the way she’s trying so hard to treat me this way. Her face appears annoyed by me, yet her eyes tell a different story. I can only imagine how less cold she’d be if Indra weren’t here; if we were alone again. “Do you have anything for me? Or are you wasting my time.”

I hold back a laugh and dart my eyes at Gaia. She looks up at me anxiously, a sense of urgency radiating from her stonestill body. Has she no faith in my abilities?

I deny myself the satisfaction of saying something snarky. Instead, I simply remove the folded paper from my coat and slide it inches down the table. I maintain unwavering eye contact with Octavia as Miller picks up the list and walks it down the long room to the girl.

“What’s this?” She asks, breaking our gaze to skim the paper. I watch her face soften as her eyes move back and forth across my writing. The others in the room try to glance from their seats, waiting for me to speak.

“That’s a list of your next combatants.”

The room is frozen, except for Blodreina who wears the brightest grin I’ve ever seen.


	6. Chapter Six

Blodreina asks no questions. Instead, we share a locking of our eyes as the others chatter around us, their low and quick whispers like a song in this echoing room. The stark lights above cast shadows across her face, dark circles resting below her grey eyes, making her grimace even more villainous. She pockets the list and nods at Miller, signaling my time to exit. As I stand to leave, she watches me, a sly smirk appearing like a ghost on her pale face. And just like that, I can sense an odd bond forming between us. I return the gentle smile.

 

Those around us, namely Indra, appear grim; their frantic whispers cut short by my loud footsteps. When I’m halfway to the door, Indra opens her mouth in protest.

 

“Surely that’s too many names,” she says quietly to Octavia. It’s odd to see Indra so hesitant and timid, but Octavia’s reaction makes it clear to see why she’s become this way.

 

“Are you questioning my leadership?” Blodreina spits, darting a sharp look at the woman.

 

Indra says nothing, dropping her eyes to the table. I wish I could stick around and watch this pan out, but I unfortunately reach the door and am blindfolded by Miller yet again. The door opens. As he pushes me into the hallway, I hear Octavia - no - I hear  _ Blodreina _ shouting at the others.

 

“The last time I checked, this is  _ my  _ bunker, with  _ my people,  _ and  _ my  _ rules,” her fist, I assume, slams against the table. “And if you have a problem with-” The door slams shut, blocking out the rest of her rant.

 

_ Shit _ , I think, wishing nothing more than to be in that room right now. I want to see the look in Indra’s eyes. I want to watch her stumble to navigate Octavia. I want to see the fear on her face when she sees how many Trikru warriors have made that list.

 

I guess I will just have to wait until the next battle.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The next morning is unpleasant to say the least. Breakfast is bad enough - the low rations, the bland food, the cramped and sweaty cafeteria. And now Gaia has managed to make it even worse, plucking me from my seat with a firm grip of my arm and a stern low brow across her face. I don’t resist, finding her anger amusing as she pulls me to a quiet corner. When I look back, Ronnie and the rest are gawking from the table.

 

“Is this a joke?” Gaia whispers. Her quiet voice has enough force to blow the stray wisps of rusty hair around my face. Her long braids are pulled back in a loose tail at the base of her neck, exposing her face and each tiny expression from disgust to hatred. I lift a mocking brow at her attitude and take a step closer, lowering my voice so nobody can hear.

 

“I’m sorry,” I begin. “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask with a quick shake of the head. As usual, every word I say seems to aggravate her even more. 

 

“The list, Persi,” she spits. If there’s one thing I  _ do _ like about Gaia it’s her ability to lock eyes, no matter how intense the situation. Today is no different. Her dark brown eyes are like ice, unmoving as she tries not to yell. “Eighteen names?!”

 

I shrug without care, positioning my arms across my torso, shifting my weight to one side with a hip bumped outward. My body acts as a wall between Gaia and the crowded cafeteria. I can only imagine how intently Ronnie and the rest are eyeing us right now.

 

“Is that a problem?” I ask. “You wanted names of anyone who defies Blodreina. You got them.” 

 

“You’ve encouraged her growing darkness,” Gaia says, her soft face contorted in fury as she scolds me. “Do you know what this means?” Genuine fear hides in her eyes.

 

“Hm…” I mock. “Let me guess. You got exactly what you wanted and now you regret it because you’re afraid of what Octavia  _ might _ do?”

 

Gaia laughs. For a second, it appears as though she’ll just walk away and cool off. But slowly, she slows her rapid breath and returns her focus to me, a new intensity emitting from her body.

 

“I didn’t want this.  _ You _ wanted this. You  _ needed _ this to survive.” She stops, clenching her jaw and shaking her head. “I should never have given you this opportunity. You should be dead... I saved your life.”

 

“Oh no,” I roll my eyes, trying not to laugh. “I saved  _ your  _ life and you repaid me. We’re even now. I don’t owe you  _ anything. _ The only person I owe is Blodreina.”

 

“ _ Blodreina, _ ” Gaia scoffs, saying the name with distaste. “So now you’re all buddy-buddy with the one who tried to kill you?”

 

“She’s keeping me alive, Gaia.”

 

“Unfortunately so.” She pauses before changing the subject. “You didn’t need to make that list, Persi.”

 

“Well what the hell were you expecting me to do?”   
  


“Sure, I expected a few names here and there,  _ maybe _ . Of those who genuinely deserve it for their crimes. But eighteen?” Gaia questions. “Eighteen innocent names at the first meeting? You’ve sorely misunderstood your task.”   
  
“Blodreina begs to differ,” I say, remembering how happy Octavia looked at the list.

 

I don’t wait for Gaia’s reaction. Instead, I return to the table, rolling my eyes. Ronnie raises a curious brow. 

 

“Old friend saying hi, huh?”

 

“Psh,” I scoff. “Something like that.” As we watch Gaia exit the cafeteria in a swirl of anger, I hope Ronnie and the others will just drop it. Of course, that’s never the case.   
  


“Whatever did happen with you two?” Mag prods. Her green eyes are open so wide I fear they may fall out. They quickly retract when she sees my less than pleasant expression.

 

“Nothing important,” I say, clenching my jaw. I try to be mild with the death stare I shoot at Mag, but it’s evidently too much for her to handle as she recoils in regret. 

 

Luckily the bell rings, signaling our exit. I swallow my last bite of mush and push my tray into Mag’s with a loud metal bang. She knows she has annoyed me, so she accepts the tray with her own and carries it to the pile near the kitchen. Am I taking advantage of her timid generosity? Maybe. But I walk away nonetheless, using the moment to slip away from her. Ronnie quickens his pace to keep up with me, his boots flopping along the cement. 

 

“Anyway,” he says. “You excited for the party tomorrow?”

 

“Elated,” I respond flatly. He knows me well to change the subject. Mag, on the other hand, could use some work.

 

“I was thinking we could start off early in the dorm with some of that hooch Rhodes made. Y’know, get a little loose.”

 

I hesitate for a moment, almost saying no by default, but decide to agree upon further thought. A few drinks might be nice. Besides, it’s been a while since we had a proper wild night like we used to on the ground. 

 

“That actually sounds pretty nice. Count me in,” I agree.

 

Ronnie beams with a wide, toothy smile, and I know why. This is the first time I’ve been the Persi he knows all week. Playing Octavia’s games and having to keep it all a secret has taken a toll on my patience with everyone, especially Ronnie. I’m living two lives and they always seem to clash, especially since we’re all tucked away in this bunker with no escape. But unwinding with some drinks brings back a sense of normalcy for me. 

 

“Great!” He smiles. “I already invited Marion, he’ll come by after classes tomorrow.”

 

I freeze upon hearing the name, but force a smile anyway.

 

Marion won’t be there, because he will be in prison awaiting the next battle.

 

 

 

 

Because I wrote his name on that list yesterday.


	7. Chapter Seven

“That’s odd… He should be here by now,” Ronnie worries, pacing the cement floor of our tiny dorm. He clutches an unopened jar of alcohol. I’ve been staring at it for the past hour, watching the liquid slosh around the glass, waiting eagerly for him to just open it already. “Have you seen him today? Marion?”

 

Still mesmerized by the jar, I don’t hear him at first. When he stops in front of me, I snap out of it. And, of course, roll my eyes.

 

“No, I haven’t,” I say, exasperated. “He’s probably just sick or something. If Octavia’s sick, something is going around.” I shrug, extending my hand toward the bottle. “Let’s start already.”

 

“Well, what if I said something wrong?” He ignores my attempt, walking away with the jar to continue his aimless pacing. I swear there will be an imprint in the floor where Ronnie drags his feet for hours whenever something goes wrong. “I complimented his hair yesterday - maybe he thought I was hitting on him…”

 

Oh god… here we go again.

 

“He knows I’m not interested in men, right?”

 

“Ronnie.” I blurt. “Snap out of it. You think too much.” I say, standing up and grabbing the jar from his hands. 

 

“Geez… Somebody needs a nap,” he says with attitude.

 

“Somebody needs a  _ drink,” _ I correct him, popping the lid off. The liquid smells sour with white fog rising from the top layer as fermented pieces of  _ something  _ bounce around in the jar. It hits my tongue with an awfully bitter bite quickly followed by a fruity aftertaste. With limited rations down here, especially lately, the alcohol that gets passed around is often an unpleasant mixture of any and all fruit scraps and rinds we can manage to part with. I don’t like to get my hands too dirty, in all aspects of my life, so I don’t mind letting the others concoct whatever mixture they can. If it gets me drunk, I’ll gladly accept. And they always offer.

 

“You and me both,” Ronnie responds, forcefully regaining hold of the bottle and taking a rather large gulp himself. “Something’s going on in this bunker, and I don’t like it.”

 

God.

 

His suspicions grow everyday. He’s got the perfect mind for it: paranoid and unrelenting. It’s the same reason he left Indra’s warrior training years ago, and it’s the same reason he’s not gonna last down here. He watches too closely, knows too much, then runs away from the danger of it all. Only, down here, he can’t run away. And if he’s this antsy now, I can’t imagine how he’ll react when Octavia opens the fighting pits one of these days and he finally sees where all his friends have been hiding.

 

“You clearly need this party,” I say, trying to change the subject before he says something criminal.

 

We spend the next few hours relishing in the slight intoxication the hooch offers. It’s not enough to get us blasted out of our minds, but it’s nice to take the edge off after a long week. And, of course, Marion never shows. I convince Ronnie that he’s probably fine and well and we will see him at the party.

  
~~////~~   
  
  


The cafeteria has been transformed into a dark dance hall; red and white lights cast sporadically across the brick walls, the illumination makes the cement floor appear glossy and shiny as if slick with blood, and most of Wonkru is already arrived, dancing with drunkenness in the center of the room while others stay huddled in groups, chatting near the walls. I scan the crowd. No Octavia. I admittedly feel a pang of disappointment, embarrassing as it may be. Let’s just say I was looking forward to seeing that grin of hers tonight as she stands at the back of the room, overlooking her room full of potential victims. Too dark? I laugh to myself.

 

This isn’t the first time we’ve seen the cafeteria this way. Not long after Praimfaya, Octavia and Jaha thought it would be a good idea to throw a celebration for the survivors. It was fun for me, as I had nobody to lose; but many of the others were too sorrow-struck to have a good time. Most of them had just lost loved ones and the warriors found it difficult to relax among the warring clans. That night is a fuzzy memory as Ronnie and I slammed back drinks like they were water, but I remember lots of sad faces and burly men trying to start fights.

 

Tonight is different. Oddly, there’s a sense of relief in the air. I suppose everyone thinks the first fighting pit was the last… that they have taken Blodreina’s warning, will act accordingly, and nobody else will have to die. 

 

How awkward for them.

 

The drinks we shared earlier have begun to wear off, though some still remains in my system. My movements feel lighter, my feet like feathers barely touching the floor. A wave of giddiness hits me out of nowhere and I reach to my side to pull Ronnie into a playful dance, although he stands still as stone, not even looking at me. My face falls into a grimace as I roll my eyes at his relentless anxiety. I punch his arm with a weak fist and he finally looks at me.

 

“Dude, snap out of it,” I say, my brows falling into a straight line. He ignores me, crossing his arms and watching the ground. “So what? Marion’s not here. Like I said, he’s probably ill.”

 

“If it was just him, I wouldn’t be worried. But look around you, Persi. Katreena isn’t here. Maxwell isn’t here. Lea, Han, Alex.”

 

“What are you suggesting?” I ask out of annoyance, although I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth. His answer might be a crime and I’ve forgotten my list and pen back at the dorm.

 

“Something is going on…” He’s grim. His voice is quiet and shaky. His bright blue eyes lose their usual shimmer. 

 

I want to grab him and shake him. I want to tell him to shut up and stop digging his own grave. I want to spill everything for his own damn good. But I can’t. Instead, I take a step of distance between us and clench my jaw closed. 

 

“Buzzkill,” I mutter before turning my back to get some water. 

 

The snack table is surprisingly well stocked. There are platters of fresh fruit - berries, grapes, cherry tomatoes - and stale crackers with some sort of mystery spread. Large tanks of water stand high above the table with metal mugs lined up around them. Kara Cooper works the hydrofarm, seemingly well, and has been making herself useful these past few days. There has been talk of possible higher rations in the near future.

 

I down a cup of water and stuff my face with a few grapes and berries. A few times, people nudge my back to say hello, and I dismiss them with an occupied nod as I reach for more food. The water and food settle my stomach until I’m practically sober. The room has lost a bit of its shine, but it’s still a celebration nonetheless.

 

As I turn on my heels to rejoin the party, I’m met with the absolute pleasure of quite literally bumping into Indra. My favorite person. I smile.

 

“Following me?” I say, a tinge of mockery in my voice.

 

“Blodreina requests your presence in her room tonight,” she says dryly, rolling her eyes. It must pain her to utter those words. Her favorite person in the world requesting time with her most hated enemy - and it’s  _ not  _ to kill her. Indra’s jaw is clenched tight as she looks aimlessly at the crowd.

 

“Requests?” I scoff at the thought. That would mean I have a choice.

 

“Demands,” Indra corrects herself. That’s more like it.

 

“And what happens if I don’t go?” I ask, curiously. Anything to make her job harder.

 

“Don’t be dumb,” she warns. “She’s taken quite the liking to you. You’d be an idiot to get back on her bad side. Besides, you don’t have a choice. Miller will arrive shortly to escort you.”

 

“What does that mean?”   
  
“You ask too many questions,” Indra hisses. She darts a face at me before leaving.

 

I scan the room for Miller, thinking he could be anywhere, lurking in the shadows of the crowd to signal me quiety to the exit. But I see him nowhere. Instead, the room is alive and chaotic with sweaty bodies in every direction, some huddled near the walls and most moving sporadically across the dance floor. I don’t see Miller. I don’t see Blodreina. And I most certainly do not see the 18 people I turned in yesterday.

 

As Indra resumes her spot at the back of the room like a hawk in a high nest observing the world, I begin to make my way back to the crowd, deciding to dance until Miller sweeps me away. Only, before I even touch the dance floor, I feel his hand around my wrist and the gentle wind of breath at my ear.

 

“Follow me,” he whispers.

  
  
  
~~////~~   
  
  


Miller leaves me at the door, taking the blindfold with him, and the few silent seconds that pass with me alone and waiting are full of suspense. Actually, I’m annoyed. Annoyed that I’m being set aside from the party. God, they must be having so much fun right now. Okay, they can’t be having too much fun since I’m not there, but still - they’re getting drunk, they’re dancing, they’re not caring about anything. Anything. At. All. Before I can think of anything more, her door opens, slowly at first. Octavia peeks her head from behind the wooden frame, eyeing down the hallway past me. 

 

“He’s gone?”

 

“Miller?” I raise a brow. “Yeah,” I nod. Strange. My blood goes cold, wondering how this happened. How I’ve become the one she wants to see, and Miller the one she wants to be sure is gone.

 

“Come in,” she whispers, opening the door wider then closing it shut behind me. 

 

I enter, slowly stepping around the room, observing it now just as I did the first time. It’s so spacious and full of so much to see that it will take a few visits to fully acknowledge it all. I eye some art on the walls, some books moved since last time on the desk, her clothes in messy piles around the bed, just waiting for her to address why she’s called me here again. Of course, she never makes anything easy, so moments pass in silence as she eyes me from the door, her back leaned against the wood with her arms crossed firmly over her chest. Her face wears the usual unimpressed expression, and I begin to wonder if that’s her only emotion. Only, something is off from the usual. It’s her eyes. They aren’t hard and cold. They show an ounce of concern. Fear, almost, but not quite. 

 

Tonight, she appears cleaned up. Her hair is still damp from a bath, hanging at her sides in stringy waves. Her face is pale and free from blood or dirt. Instead of her usual slick leather attire, she wears a simple black long sleeve shirt over matching cotton pants like the ones I wear to sleep. She looks… normal. Like a young girl. Not a young  _ tyrant _ .

 

Since it’s clear she won’t start first, I do, but not without an exaggerated sigh and a roll of my eyes. I stand like she does, my arms crossed, finger tapping my elbow.

 

“Well? When you invite someone over it’s usually for a reason,” I say, leaning against the frame of her bed. And just like that, the concern in her eyes vanishes, replaced with the usual darkness present within them. A smirk emerges as she lets out an unamused laugh.

 

“You’re always so pleasant to be around, aren’t you?” She takes a step forward, then another, pacing slowly near the door. Sometimes she stops to speak, stops to look at me, but mostly keeps her head down, glued to the floor. In fact, I swear I see her gnawing at the inside of her cheek… She clasps her hands behind her back and continues her pace back and forth, down the same path near the door.

 

“Duh,” I scoff, cocking my head as I examine her odd behavior. She must think I’m oblivious to her anxiety, because she continues pacing nonetheless. “Cut the crap. Why am I here?”

 

Octavia stops, her eyes fall at no point in particular. Even her antsy, twirling thumbs freeze. I watch as she swallows, clears her throat, and looks up at me, that vulnerability in her eyes returning. 

 

“I need… something-” She begins to say, though the words don’t come easily. Her eyes drop to the floor, then back to mine. “I need confirmation.”

  
  


Okay… now I’m really confused. I wait for her to say more. She breathes audibly, in then out, and looks up at me through her lashes. 

 

“I need you to tell me that what I’m doing is right.”

 

“Excuse me?” I struggle to contain the laughter, but force it anyway, seeing how serious she is. “Oh…” I clear my throat and wipe the grin off my face. “You’re not kidding?”

 

“Am I ever kidding, smartass?” She says the words low through a whisper, the usual anger screaming to come out, but she forces it down, shakes her head, and continues. “Look, just tell me it’s right.”

 

My mouth hangs open, stuck between wanting to speak and wanting to laugh in her face. But the foreign stare of her pleading eyes sends out only a sigh as I shake my head.

 

“If this is about the fighting pits,” I shake my head and shrug my shoulders to my ears. I struggle to find the words. “I… I don’t know what to tell you.”

 

She lurches forward, talking with her hands. Her quick steps toward me echo in the large room.

 

“Tell me yes,” she begs, her voice low and forceful. Behind her eyes lights a fire. Now inches from my face, I can see the worry lines on her skin, the fading youthful spark in her eyes. “Just say it,” she whispers, eyes never leaving mine, not even to blink.

 

I look down and manage my breath. I ask myself, will she actually stop the pits if I tell her it’s wrong? Or will she continue regardless, just needing to shift the blame to someone else. If I say no, what does that mean for me? Is our arrangement off? Will I be punished - killed - for not telling her what she wants to hear? I laugh to myself that I’m even here right now; that she’s called me here and is asking me to give her the permission she needs. Suddenly, I feel flattered. She could have asked Indra. But she chose me. I smirk at the thought of replacing Indra, keeping our rivalry alive and well. So it’s easy to say “Yes.” I nod. “Yes, you are doing the right thing.”

 

Immediately the worry falls away from her eyes and so returns the darkness to them. She even smiles, maybe because I am. She nods her head, as if to say she knew she was right all along, she just wanted to hear it. She’s pleased. Reassured. A light switch has gone off in her mind.

 

What did I just witness?

 

“I thought so, too,” she says flatly and steps away from our little bubble. The room shifts from serious to casual, even more so when she flops back onto the mattress, looking up. I remain standing, watching her. “Are you enjoying the party?”

 

“I was,” I nod. 

 

“Hm,” she purses her lips in thought, eyes straight up at the ceiling. 

 

“You’re not going?”

 

She shakes her head, the dark hair cascading around the pillow. “Blodreina doesn’t have time for parties.”

 

“Does Octavia?”

 

She raises a brow, lifting her head to eye me, thinking, before she falls back onto the pillow with a shake of her head. “There is no Octavia.”

 

“Oh, come on,” I roll my eyes with a laugh, comfortable now challenging her. “I just spoke to Octavia.”

 

“Yeah, and now she’s gone for good,” she says. “Because you just helped me kill her.”

 


	8. Chapter Eight

“You all know why we are here today,” Octavia’s voice begins in a soft rumble like the threat of an oncoming storm accompanied by her slow footsteps. I beg to differ - I don’t think anyone knows why we are here, huddled tightly into the three floors surrounding the fighting pit, except for me and Octavia and the rest of her crew. Abby looks empty and unsurprised. Gaia looks at her feet. Indra stands beside Octavia, her expression grim. The faces in the crowd surrounding me are confused, tired, and annoyed that she has woken us all up so early again. Octavia slowly falls into view on her third floor platform - I look up at her from a floor below - Ronnie and I stand pressed against the fence in the tight crowd. Her hands are clasped behind her back as she walks, eyeing anyone who will dare to look at her. Like me - I look at her. It’s hard not to. “Perhaps you’ve been wondering where your friends have been these past couple of days.”

 

Now the faces are that of terror. Of realization. I hear Ronnie gulp beside me. His hand barely grazes mine. It’s cold and damp with sweat. Shaking with fear. Or is it anger? Hard to say, since I don’t want to look at him. 

 

“Well, you shouldn’t worry for them. You should be disappointed in them, for they have committed crimes against us. It is not acceptable,” Her voice booms louder and louder, filling this large space with her try-hard anger. It’s all an act, I know. Hell, the image of terror burning in her eyes just last night flashes in my mind and I have no choice but to remember it.  _ Tell me what I’m doing is right. Just say it.  _ On any other occasion, it would be laughable, but this girl is clearly struggling. Indra stands still as stone at her side. Miller, too. Gaia sits nearby, clenching her jaw so tightly I can see the lines of her muscles from here. I stare at her for a moment, wondering if she’ll look back, but her eyes are like glass, never moving from the floor. “I will not accept it. Not from them. And not from anyone. I don’t know how many times I have to warn you: You are Wonkru, or you are the enemy of Wonkru,” She bellows, her face contorting to match the intensity of her voice. “Bring them in!” 

 

Gates creak open to our right. One after the other, my list of people walk out, heads down, faces deep with sorrow and fear. Only a few jump out with energy, sneers on their faces, ready to fight - mostly just the warriors. Long hair. Braids. Tattoos. I glance at Indra who appears to be struggling to maintain her neutral expression. I see her gulp, blink, change her posture. So many of her beloved Trikru followers now stand below her, waiting to die. I bite back a smile growing on my lips. 

 

“You know the rules. Win the fight, save your life,” Octavia says, her body rigid as she steps forward, close to the railing. She raises her sword over head, pauses, and sends it soaring down, cutting through the air, clanging with an awful shriek as it hits the concrete below us. Those in the pit stumble with chaos, some screaming, some growling, some begging to be forgiven. Ronnie clutches the fence in front of us, his knuckles turning white.

 

“Marion,” he whispers to nobody in particular. “This can’t be happening.”

 

I shove him, jolting a fist into his side, but he still stares straight down at the pit. I watch his bright eyes gloss over, looking at one friend, then another, then another - his gaze darts so quickly I have to look away. Yes, I know he’s a dramatic man. But this is crossing into lunacy territory. I sigh and put on a stern face, but not before noticing his lingering glare on Marion’s wrist - a silver watch, passed down from Ronnie’s father, adorns his wrist. Ronnie gave it to Marion a few years ago as a token of their quickly budding friendship. That’s how they were - fast and intense - the best of friends for a few weeks, strangers for the next… That’s partially my fault. Many years ago, I had convinced Ronnie that anyone in Indra’s army - or anyone who fought at all - was weak and lost. A bully imposing their out of control emotions of rage and violence onto anyone who will challenge them. Truth is, Marion’s not all that bad. He seems to have a grasp on reality and he’s always been kind enough to me. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s about to die, though. 

 

“Get it together,” I mutter through clenched teeth. Ronie clears his throat and takes a small step away from the fence, removing his fingers from the chain-link wire. He drops his head, unable to watch any longer. But me? I’m just getting started. I dart my eyes from the prisoners to Blodreina to Indra, unable to pick just one focal point. They’re all entertaining. The prisoners scurry around like lost ants without a sense of direction. Blodreina smirks with amusement watching them. And Indra looks as though she’s seen a ghost. I bite back a grin and watch the battle unfold.

 

It’s a bloodbath now and nobody is safe from the splatter. Not even us on the second floor. My boots are in a puddle of blood and Ronnie’s blue jeans spurt tiny droplets of red all across his shins. He pinches his eyes shut, shaking his head like a whining baby. I wonder, when did he get so soft? This shit happens all the time - the violence, the chaos. I guess when it’s his friends down there, it’s harder to watch. It’s probably a good thing he’s looking away, because right before my eyes, just below our feet, Marion falls, and a sword rips out from his dying body.  _ Well that sucks,  _ I think. He’s one of the few down there that have -  _ had _ \- a fighting chance. Trained in battle. Fit. Not afraid to kill someone. And now I’ll have to spend the upcoming weeks listening to Ronnie cry and go on and on about how great of a friend Marion was and blah blah  _ blah _ . 

 

_ Play it cool,  _ I remind myself.

 

The battle continues for what feels like ages. Alex, a Skaikru boy, maintains control of the sword for quite a long time, slashing through anyone who dares to challenge him. He slays nearly half the combatants before Katreena kicks the small of his back and sends him to the floor, impaling him by the sword in his own hand.  _ Ouch.  _ As he suffers, coughing up blood on the cement, Katreena flips his body over and rips the sword from his belly, raising it with a gleam of excitement in her eyes. She’s Trikru, but not a warrior. Just a plain girl from a plain family. I knew her well growing up, but we eventually fell away from each other. She’d preferred to spend her time with Lexa, with whom I had my own quarrels. A portion of the crowd cheers at Katreena’s success. It’s an odd, uneasy cheer, as if they are hesitant to celebrate anything that goes on in the pit. I note Octavia’s furrowed brows at the sound of clapping and shouting in support of Katreena. She’s intrigued, as am I, and as most of the crowd is as well. Should we cheer for our friends? Or should we mourn the loss of the others? Nobody seems to know for sure. I, for one, don’t care.

 

Before long, Katreena has dwindled the battlefield until only one other man remains. He challenges her, grimacing through his thick braided beard, unruly brows, pacing opposite of her as they circle the perimeter of the fence. His name escapes me now, but I recognize him from another clan. His crime that landed him here in the pit was simply uttering Blodreina’s name with mockery. Sitting behind me in the cafeteria one evening, he leaned over to his friend and whispered  _ Blodreina must be a fool to think she can unite us all.  _

 

Once, he lunges at Katreena, the man towering over her, nearly double her height and size. But she outwits him, using her small frame to her advantage, and quickly twirls out of his reach, sword up in air. The crowd cheers - and this time, more people join in. Some clang the metal fence. Some clap. Some yell her name. 

 

Seemingly for some, the initial shock of the first battle has worn away and morphed into some sick championship game for them to gawk at. Looking around, it’s mainly the warriors and fighters who cheer. The rest watch in horror like they did the first time. I spot Mag across the room, her face void of color as she watches with sorrow behind the fence. Her eyes meet mine and I quickly look away to watch the end of the fight.

 

The man continues to circle around Katreena, although it’s clear he’s losing strength. Sweat and blood drip down his wrinkled face. He’s exhausted, heaving, panting like an animal in the sun. Katreena notes his growing weakness and uses the opportunity to pounce. She lunges the sword forward, and since he fails to jump aside in time, it pierces him straight through his lung, poking out through his back. Ronnie peaks through his hands.

 

“Katreena,” he whispers exasperated. He seems relieved to see she has won. But he quickly slugs his shoulders over in defeat upon seeing the bodies littered around her. His friends.  _ He must never find out I did this…  _

 

Katreena drops the sword and a portion of the crowd roars, bashing the fences, jumping in celebration. I notice Blodreina’s eyes gaze over the crowd, curiosity falling over her face. She raises her hand and the crowd quiets.

 

“Katreena,” she announces, squaring her shoulders as she walks to the edge of the railing, peering down at the girl. “Congratulations. Your life has been spared.”

 

Some yelps and claps echo in the room. 

 

“All who have lost their lives have done so as an example for you all,” Blodreina says, speaking to the crowd. A man beside me beams at her as though she’s god. Ronnie scowls at her as though she’s anything but. “Do not let their deaths be in vain.”

 

We are dismissed, guards on every level lead us toward the exit. Minutes pass before Ronnie and I get near the door. By now, most people have left in a swirl of animated discussion and sorrowful defeat. 

 

“Persephone,” Octavia says behind us. She’s in the middle of the pit, sending Katreena off with a celebratory pat on the back. Ronnie freezes, as do I, but he does it out of fear. I can feel it emanating off his tense body. He keeps his face toward the door, but his eyes peel sideways, pleading for me. Ignoring his anxieties, I bite my lip and turn on my heels to face the girl. She stands alone now. “Would you come here and remove the belongings of your dear friend Marion here?”

 

I catch on with her ploy and nod. I turn to address Ronnie. “I’ll catch up with you later. And I’ll grab that watch you gave him,” I say, patting his shoulder to send him off. Ronnie’s face is frozen with fear, but he nods nonetheless and continues to walk out the exit. He looks back once and I wave. The last few rows of people follow behind him until we are alone. I step over bodies until I’m face to face with the girl.

 

“Good work,” she says to me.

 

I nod and shrug my shoulders. I struggle to find anywhere to step that isn’t covered in puddles of blood.

 

“It’s easy - finding people who speak badly of Blodreina. People love to hate you,” I say as a joke, although she doesn’t find it funny. Go figure.

 

“Hm.” She purses her lips. “Are you included in that? Hating me?” She asks, kicking a limp hand from one of the corpses. It falls back onto the cement with a thud. 

 

“Used to,” I admit. I crouch down over Marion’s body and remove the bloody watch from his wrist. I look up at her as I wipe the watch on my black jeans, though the blood doesn’t clear away, it just gets pushed around into the creases of the silver band. “I mean, you did try to kill me. And you’re basically Indra’s daughter, as if the one wasn’t bad enough already.”

 

She laughs. She actually laughs. I feel my brows press together in amusement. Who knew the girl could do anything other than sulk?

 

“Yeah,” she exhales through a smile and rests her hands in her back pockets, shifting her weight to one leg. “Gaia can be… a lot.”

 

“You’re telling me,” I widen my eyes at the plethora of memories I could share with Octavia about my experiences with Gaia. However, to subject myself to such thoughts is torture. “I don’t know how you put up with her.”

 

“She has her place here,” Octavia says, scanning the empty floors that surround the pit. The harsh lights from above cascade shadows across her face. “As do you.”

 

I lift a brow and feel my lips tug into a smirk. “So that means I’m official now.”

 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there,” she warns, but a playful lull accompanies her raspy voice. She inhales, then exhales, a relieving sigh preparing her for her next words. “But yeah. For now.”

 

I bite my lip to keep the smile from growing.

 

“But-,” she quickly follows. “I expect more of the same. More names. More intel.”

 

I nod, accepting the challenge. Well, I can’t really call it a challenge. It’s no more work than breathing. I can’t step outside my dorm without hearing someone wary of Octavia’s reign. Hell, I can’t even step foot  _ inside _ the dorm without hearing it, too...

 

I stand and pocket the watch. “Not a problem,” I say.

 

“Good,” Octavia says as she begins to walk off. She halts, turns on her heels. “By the way; Ronnie, is it?”

  
  
I freeze. Nod.

 

“I like him,” she smirks. “Can you get all your friends to act like that? He looks at me like I’m the devil. He knows his place.”

 

“Yeah,” I force a fake laugh. “Yeah, he’s pretty scared of you.”

 

“Good,” she puts a hand on my shoulder. My body tenses at her skin on mine. “I would be too if I were him.”


End file.
